


Depth Chart

by atlanticslide



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: First Time, Gay Chicken, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanticslide/pseuds/atlanticslide
Summary: It's just one long game of gay chicken...





	Depth Chart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sharksdontsleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharksdontsleep/gifts).



He wouldn’t exactly call himself an _impulsive_ person. It’s just that sometimes he doesn’t really think what he’s doing all the way through. Or, more accurately, he just doesn’t care. He’s never worried much about what other people think.

Like, for example, guys have been telling him for years to tone it down, don’t smile so much on the field, look intimidating or whatever, but Trea’s always just shrugged and grinned it off because baseball is frickin _fun_ , so why the hell wouldn’t he smile when he’s out there - especially when he gets to the bigs, how can you not enjoy the hell out of being out there every day? He gets to play alongside Bruce frickin Harper, he played in a no-hitter, he gets to run around the bases in front of 50,000 fans, he gets to turn double plays from Anthony Rendon.

Everyone kind of treats it like a joke, which is fine, but Tony really is his favorite player. They’re only a few years apart, but Tony is like the ambassador when Trea first gets called up, even though it’s clear his first major league stint is only going to be short. Tony smiles at him, this huge, bright smile, slaps him on the shoulder, and takes him to show him where the food spread is in the clubhouse. On the field, he makes it look easy - makes it look _fun,_ even - like he’s just tossing one to first instead of firing a bullet, or diving for a ball and then popping right back up on his feet. He’s fast and he’s sneaky good, like people don’t even see his batting average creeping up and up and up. It’s fun to watch him, even when Trea’s riding the bench. 

Tony is pretty much everything Trea wants to be, is the bottom line. 

“You’re an idiot,” Tony tells him with a grin plastered all over his face when that video starts making the rounds on Twitter - Trea literally jumping up and down, his voice clear over the scrum of other players and the screams of the fans, _You’re my favorite player! You’re my favorite player!_ And Trea just shrugs and returns the grin even as guys in the clubhouse throw towels at him and Harper jumps up and down in a lame imitation of him.

“Ain't no lie there,” Trea shrugs. “You _are_ my favorite player.” 

Tony just laughs and squeezes his shoulder as he walks by, heading towards the showers. 

-

2017 is the year they get to make it happen together, side by side on the diamond, and Trea doesn’t keep quiet about how frickin awesome that is. So when some team official appears in the clubhouse one day bearing t-shirts with giant pictures of their faces on them, Trea starts giggling like a little kid and immediately pulls it on over the workout shirt he's already got on for BP. 

“You’re _not_ wearing that shit,” says Stras, darkly, when he comes out of the shower to see Tony’s face plastered across Trea’s chest. It just makes Trea smile even wider, and when Tony emerges from the showers a few minutes later he gets the same admonition from Stras.

Tony raises his eyebrows and grabs the shirt, pulls it over his head before he’s even toweled off from his shower, like it’s a dare or something. Trea grins and goes over to punch him in the shoulder, lets his hand linger for a moment on Tony’s forearm, because life is just so good sometimes. 

-

They’re at a club one night in May - late night, post-win, music thumping and guys, girls sweating and swirling around them - he’s had a few drinks so _everything_ feels kind of swirling and hazy. And good. He feels really good right now, pressed up against Tony at the bar as they wait for their drinks. Trea’s watching Tony, watching him grin and then duck his head, laughing at something Difo’s saying to him on his other side, and Tony’s got a really awesome laugh. Trea has no idea what Difo’s saying but Trea smiles along with Tony, feels even hazier and lighter as they stand there and he watches a few beads of sweat trickle down Tony’s temple. He stares at them for a moment, hypnotized, before reaching out a finger to wipe them away.

He can see Difo give him a weird look, but Tony just keeps on talking, so Trea takes that as an invitation to rest an arm on Tony’s shoulder and lean more heavily into him. Tony’s arm comes up to circle Trea’s waist in response. It’s pretty nice.

The club is friggin packed so drinks are taking forever and people are starting to get pushy, jostling into them and knocking Trea every few moments. He gets pushed enough so that his shoulder is kind of shoved awkwardly against Tony’s chest and he has to move his arm from Tony’s shoulder. So he drops it to Tony’s leg and waits for Tony to tense up and push him away or something. When nothing happens, he taps his fingers a couple of times, almost daring Tony to do it, to shove him off, maybe call him a fag or something, even though that’s not really Tony’s style.

Tony’s not quite as fast as Trea - few guys are other than maybe Billy Hamilton or Dee Gordon - but he’s up there, probably the Nats’ best on the basepaths before Trea showed up. Which is actually one of the things that Trea loves about him as a player. Speed is so underrated, and he can feel that speed in Tony’s leg - or, more accurately, he can feel thick, hard muscle beneath the fabric of Tony’s jeans, and he presses his hand into it for a moment, still waiting to be told to fuck off.

The _fuck off_ never comes, though. Instead, Tony’s only real response seems to be to tug Trea against him a little tighter and slide his hand down to rest on Trea’s hip. 

So his head is a little fuzzy and all, but it feels like something’s happening here, and he’s not really sure what. He squeezes Tony’s leg and a moment later Tony squeezes his hip, and it’s kinda feeling like a game between them? Except that Trea’s heart is starting to beat really fast… but there’s no way he’s getting turned on or something, ‘cause he’s not into guys, and Tony is Tony, his buddy, this is just some weird goofing off. 

He runs his hand along the inseam of Tony’s jeans and rubs his thumb over the hard muscle of Tony’s thigh. If Tony doesn’t finally tell him to fuck off and put a stop to this soon, he’s going to be skirting pretty close to… to…

Tony slips his hand up under the back of Trea’s t-shirt, just barely stroking his skin, and Trea’s brain is kind of spinning out. More than anything else because Tony’s fingers are warm and sending a thrill up Trea’s spine and it feels _good_.

And then the bartender places their drinks down in front of them - freaking finally - and one of the other guys is calling for Tony from across the room and Trea grabs their drinks, one in each hand. Tony drops his hand from Trea’s waist and that’s that. After a moment Trea’s not even sure anything actually happened.

-

Talking to press is always pretty fun, but he has absolutely no idea what to say when one of the Post guys asks him, one day in early June, about the “favorite player” thing. Tony is - he’s Anthony freaking Rendon, how is he not _everyone’s_ favorite player? 

“If he wasn’t the player he is, I think you’d talk about him more,” he says, and has no idea if that’s going to make sense to anyone else, but it’s how he feels. Tony isn’t flashy, doesn’t whoop and holler, doesn’t have that kind of energy that has the national sports guys following his every move. It’s like, Harper’s cool and all, but he has this vibe that makes people want to talk about him all the time, whether good or bad, even when Harp doesn’t really want it. 

Tony’s the opposite - chill, doesn’t really look for much attention, just goes up to the plate and moves a runner over, or casually dives and stops a grounder from reaching the grass. He just makes everything look like it’s no big deal, and because of that he tends to fly under the radar, and that’s one of the things that makes him such a fun guy to play next to. It’s hard for Trea not to get caught up watching him sometimes. 

“Hey,” Tony says a few days later, after the article has come and gone. “That was… thanks, man, what you said in that Allen piece, that was cool.” He almost looks embarrassed, leaning against the side of Trea’s locker with his arms folded across his chest and his face a little red. 

Trea grins at him and shrugs before going back to lacing up his cleats. “I dunno why they keep asking about that, you and me. Of course you’re my favorite player.”

“Man,” Tony sighs with a smile that tugs at one corner of his mouth. “They’re gonna start drawing hearts around our names on the scorecard or something.”

He gives Trea a wink and then turns and heads off towards the tunnel that leads up to the dugout and out to the field before Trea can make a quip in return. Or really process the way his heart is beating all of a sudden.

When they’re on the field for warmups later, though, Trea makes sure to cap off a around the horn with a puckered-lip kiss face at Tony, who doubles over laughing in response. Henley barks at him to knock it off, so Tony covers his face with his glove and keeps laughing as Henley hits another ball out to them.

Tony strikes back a few hours later when Trea smacks a double off the right field fence and he pops back up from his slide into second, dusts his pants off a bit, and glances back at the dugout to catch Tony blowing him a kiss. 

If the TV cameras catch him laughing, they’ll probably believe easy enough that it’s just that he’s excited and enjoying the game.

-

They touch each other pretty much all the time. It’s hard to be a baseball player and _not_ be up in twenty-four other guys’ personal space, and them in yours, constantly. 

There’s nothing weird about slapping each other on the ass, nothing out of the ordinary with Tony tweaking Trea’s ear or Trea pinching the back of Tony’s neck. The thing is, though, somewhere during the summer, their touches start to get a little… long. Lingering. Tony doesn’t just knock Trea on the back of the head after Trea comes in from circling the bases on his fifth homer of the year, Tony knocks him and then settles his hand into Trea’s hair for a moment, running his fingers through the strands. Trea doesn’t just punch Tony in the knee when they’re sitting in the clubhouse for a team meeting before practice, he punches and then leaves his fist there to rest on Tony’s knee for a couple of minutes, and then lets his hand ease open a little so his fingers are drifting over Tony’s leg. Tony doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a move to stop him, and no one else is paying him any attention. He wonders just how far he could go with this...

He has the same thought a few days later when Tony hits him in the face with a wet towel - _used_ wet towel, because they’re all kinds of gross around here - and Trea head-butts him. Usually a sign of affection, now used to topple Tony to the floor of the clubhouse while Tony laughs and tries to pull up his shorts enough that his junk’s not totally hanging out while Trea shoves him. 

Once he’s got his shorts pulled on, Tony throws an arm around Trea’s neck and hauls him around so that Trea lands on his back with Tony climbing on top of him. Someone else in the clubhouse whistles at them while most of the other guys just laugh, Trea included. The grin on his face feels like it’s splitting his cheeks, and he grabs hold of Tony’s wrists to push him away and give him a knee to the stomach, which makes Tony grimace briefly before wrestling one arm away and reaching down - 

Down to brush a hand over one of Trea’s nipples. He doesn’t tweak it or something, like Trea would expect if Tony really wanted to rile him up. He just… touches. And Trea’s got a t-shirt on, but Tony is naked from the waist up, and suddenly Trea wants to reach out and do the same thing to him, so he does, kinda - reaches out to press one hand against Tony’s chest and lets it rest there for a moment, over the tattoo. And Tony’s skin is so warm, really smooth… 

He shoves at Tony’s chest, watches Tony grin and catches something in Tony’s eyes, something unrecognizable. And then Tony’s back on top of him, rolling them around a couple of times before Trea lands on his back again with Tony pinning his wrists to the floor.

“You guys’re gonna break something and land your asses on the DL,” someone admonishes them, but Trea is too busy staring up at Tony to pay attention to who. 

Tony’s grinning down at him, looking kind of wild with his hair all tangled and hanging down on either side of his face, these long, loose curls that Trea hates and loves with equal measure. And he’s looking at Trea like… like… Trea can’t really figure it out, and then he’s moving, he’s craning his head forward towards Trea and Trea goes absolutely still, body tense under Tony’s hands, and Tony is leaning in, like… They’re almost nose to nose and Trea can actually smell Tony’s bodywash from the shower he just took, Trea’s heart is suddenly racing, and Tony is still leaning in, he’s going to…

He blows a puff of air in Trea’s face, making Trea blink, and then laughs brightly and pushes himself up and off the floor. Off of Trea. 

Trea blinks a couple more times, trying to figure out what just happened, and then pulls himself up so he can go grab a shower.

-

He really wants to get high one night late after a game in July - it’s been a long stretch without a day off and they’ve still got five more days before they get a break - but it’s not an option during the season with the possibility of random drug testing always out there, so he settles for beers on Tony’s balcony at 1am. It does the job okay.

Difo and some other guy, some friend of Tony’s that Trea’s met a couple of times, were there earlier, but it’s just the two of them now, leaning back in chairs side by side with their feet up on the railing, looking out at the Capitol Building in the distance. They’re several beers in - Trea’s lost count at this point - and he’s feeling pretty good, pretty relaxed. So when Tony reaches over to pass him another bottle, Trea lets his fingers drift over Tony’s for a moment before taking the bottle from him.

He can feel Tony watching him, but he just takes a long pull from the bottle and stares out at the city.

“I’m glad you’re here, man,” Tony says, kind of quiet, like he’s not sure he wants Trea to actually hear it.

Trea turns to him and blinks a couple of times, trying to clear away the cobwebs in his head. “What, tonight?” he asks, wondering what’s so special about this random Tuesday.

Tony laughs at him. “No, not tonight, I mean - I mean this year. I like having you up here with us. You’re where you should be.” He pauses for a long moment, staring at Trea. Trea stares back at him. “Next to me out there on the diamond. I dunno, it just works, right?”

Trea’s not really sure what he’s talking about or what prompted this, but he nods along because yeah, it does work. But there’s something in the air between them all of a sudden, something tense that Trea can’t name that’s making his chest feel tight

“So what you’re saying is… I’m your favorite player?” 

Tony bursts out a laugh, nearly drops his beer, and suddenly Trea feels like he can breathe again.

“Shit, man,” Tony says in between chuckles. “Yeah, you are, totally are.” It sounds so warm and genuine, even peppered with Tony’s laughter, and Trea’s heart starts beating faster.

“C’mon,” he says, looking away from Tony to pick at the label on his beer bottle. “No reporters, no TV cameras around.”

“I’m not saying it just to blow smoke or something,” Tony replies. “You ever known me to say shit just to get reporters’ attention?”

“Why _do_ you hate talking to the press so much?” Trea asks. Because he friggin loves it - talking on national TV is a total trip - and he pretty much knows what the answer is going to be already, because he knows Tony, but he’s never really outright asked before. 

Tony laughs again, sounds a little uncomfortable when he says, “I dunno. Just seems kinda pointless, doesn’t it?” He shrugs and takes a sip from his beer. He doesn’t have much of an accent most days, but when he drinks like this there’s a drawl that starts to come out, his words a little more slow and pronounced. “I mean, who cares what I have to say about shit? I just want to go out there and play, don’t wanna have to dissect it from every angle or whatever.” 

“Yeah,” Trea replies, all he can really think to say, because he did pretty much know that that’s the thing of it for Tony. Tony just wants to play, doesn’t want to have to promote himself, and that’s what Trea had meant that time with the guy from the Post - if he was a different kind of player, a different kind of person, they’d talk about him more. 

“You just care about the game,” Trea says, kind of quiet, and sinks back into his chair so he can rest his head against the back of it and turn to look at Tony. Tony is staring right back at him. “Not all of the extra stuff that comes with being in the pros.” 

“Same for you to though, right?” 

Trea shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “The press, the TV cameras, all that stuff is pretty fun too.”

“The game, I mean.” Tony shuffles around so he’s kind of sitting sideways in his chair, facing Trea, and leans the side of his head against the back of the chair. 

Trea watches him for a long moment before asking, “Why am I your favorite player?”

Tony smiles, and something hits Trea right in the gut. “I love how much you love the game.”

He says it like - like something that Trea still can’t quite name yet, but there’s a feeling of depth, meaning behind the words that fills Trea up.

They don’t say much else for the rest of night, just keep drinking and taking occasional glances at one another.

-

It’s not even a particularly exciting game - just another one in September, past the point where the regular season games have much serious meaning, not yet playoffs, just one of those games you get through while counting down the days to October.

But he scored two runs and drove in one and stole a couple bases and he’s just generally riding that post-win high when he pounds on Tony’s hotel room door and tells him they’re going out.

Tony raises his eyebrows at him. “You on something, man?” 

Trea sputters a laugh and pushes Tony aside to invite himself in to Tony’s room. “Just high on winning!” 

“You’re an idiot.” Tony rolls his eyes but there’s so much affection in his voice that Trea has to do something, has touch him or _something_ \- he gets his hands on Tony’s chest and thinks for a moment about leaving them there, but instead he shoves Tony lightly, makes Tony stumble a little backwards.

“Seriously, you had anything to drink tonight?” Tony asks him as he stumbles a little backwards.

“Nah, not yet. Wanna crack a couple open?” 

Tony snorts. “Not really sure you need it.” But he goes to the minibar, grabs a couple of Heinekens and does that thing that Trea still can’t figure out, pops the bottle caps off one at a time on the edge of the table, and hands one off to Trea.

Trea takes a deep breath, for no particular reason, and blows it out slowly before taking a long sip of his beer. “It’s just, y’know. Getting close to October. Close to _that_ time of year.”

“I know what time of year,” Tony replies, grinning. He reaches over to clink the necks of their bottles together and then takes a sip of his own. 

It’s infectious; Trea can’t help grinning right back at him. And it’s like, this whole year - this is his first real season, his first season where this is his actual job, playing major league ball, playing out there in the field day after day next to Tony… something’s just got him tonight, all this build up over the past eight months to get them here, and they’re right there, they’re right on the cusp of taking it all, and he had a good game tonight.

So he moves on impulse, headbutts Tony in the chest like he’s just been trotting around the bases with a homerun, and Tony laughs at him, slides a hand into Trea’s hair. He pets Trea’s hair a couple of times and then just… leaves his hand there. And Trea lets him, and stays where he is, bent over kind of awkwardly and head resting against Tony’s chest and he gets a wild thought to push this again, see how far he can take it, ‘cause it’s like this weird series of unspoken dares between them. 

He rubs his head against Tony’s chest briefly before moving slowly, down a little, and then a little more, and Tony’s hand just stays there in his hair, stroking lightly, so Trea keeps going, pressing his face into Tony’s stomach, breathing him in. He smells really great; he _feels_ really great.

He has to drop to his knees and that’s when it really hits him what the hell he’s doing. He’s still waiting for Tony to stop him, to kick him in the chest or laugh and wrestle him to the floor like they sometimes do, or get all awkward and kick Trea out of his room, because this is weird, what Trea’s doing right now… he’s on his knees, with his face resting against Tony just above his waistband, and it takes him a moment to realize. 

Tony’s hard. 

His heart is thundering in his chest, and Tony’s hand is gentle in his hair. He’s never really thought about guys before, but he’s just going on impulse, and what he wants to do right now is bring his hands up to rest on Tony’s hips. He stays like that for a moment, still waiting for Tony to do something, to stop this. 

Tony brushes his thumb over Trea’s temple. 

Trea moves down just a little, just enough to press his closed mouth against the bulge in Tony’s sweatpants, and when Tony sighs Trea gets so hot he actually has to take a breath and steady himself, dropping his beer bottle to the floor. He lets the beer spill out over the carpet, thinks vaguely, when Tony’s falls on the floor as well, that they’ll pay for it later, tomorrow, whatever. 

Beyond that, though, he’s not really sure where to take this, and it seems like Tony might actually be down, and Trea… he wants to know what Tony looks like when he comes.

But, “I don’t - I’ve never, uh, never done this. With a guy.” He whispers it into Tony’s crotch, not really sure how to actually look at Tony right now.

“Kinda figured,” Tony tells him. Trea can hear the smile in his voice. His whole body is shaking right now, adrenaline or nervousness or some heady combo of both making his blood pump like crazy and his nerves twitch, but the sound of Tony’s voice makes him loosen a little, even more when Tony uses his free hand to shove his sweats down around his ankles. 

“Just, y’know, give it a shot,” Tony instructs him unhelpfully. “Do what feels good to you - you have at least _gotten_ a BJ before, right?”

Trea finally looks up at him at that, shoots him a glare, and Tony’s grinning face is both annoying and comforting. He looks back down at where Tony’s boxers are tented and swallows thickly before pulling them down, watching Tony’s cock spring free. He’s not going to be intimidated or freaked out by another guy’s dick, not at this point. The sight of it is actually doing things to him - it’s pretty surprising. 

Tony hisses when Trea gets a hand on him. It makes Trea grin smugly - it kind of feels like another challenge, just another thing they’re doing to test each other. So he takes it head on - no pun intended - and leans forward to take Tony in his mouth.

It’s a weird sensation, not something he’d ever thought he’d do, but it’s actually… it feels pretty good. Tony’s dick is heavy on his tongue and Tony is starting to breathe fast, heavily, the hand in Trea’s hair tightening a little, and Trea likes knowing what he’s doing to Tony. 

He’s still not totally sure how best to go about this, but Tony’s not complaining so far, so Trea takes his advice and tries to do what he knows he likes, licking up the shaft and wrapping one hand around the base and sucking at the head. The sounds Tony’s making suggest he’s cool with it. 

“Yeah, that,” Tony sighs. “Like that.” He’s got both hands in Trea’s hair now, tugging a little and stroking along with the motion of Trea’s up and down, up and down over Tony’s dick. It’s not totally unlike when he goes down on a girl who tangles her fingers in his hair, but everything else is totally different. Obviously. 

Tony moans when Trea goes down again - he’s not even trying to go down all that far, but when he can fit in his mouth seems to be doing the job, and he feels pretty smug about that. He’s also getting pretty turned on, thinks about reaching a hand down to squeeze himself, but for the moment focuses on running his tongue around the head of Tony’s cock and feeling the shudder the runs through Tony’s body.

“I’m - I’m not gonna last much longer,” Tony breathes out in a stutter. Trea takes the opportunity to bring his free hand up, grasp Tony’s leg, run his hand up and down Tony’s thigh and feel all that warm skin, that hard muscle without anything covering it up. He really, really likes Tony’s legs. 

He squeezes the hand that’s been circling Tony’s cock, jacks it up and down a couple of times, and Tony wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t going to last much longer - he comes quickly, suddenly, with a loud grunt, and Trea pulls his head back and just keeps stroking him through it, letting Tony come on his chest, his neck, his hand. This is what he’d wanted to see - Tony with his mouth hanging open and his head tipped back, his eyes squeezed closed, hair spilling over his shoulders. His face is red, a little sweaty. He looks amazing. 

“Shit,” Tony says, panting. His eyes are still closed, but he’s rubbing Trea’s head, the side of the his face, and it only takes a minute before his eyes open and he’s pulling Trea to his feet and yanking at the button on Trea’s jeans so he can shove a hand down Trea’s pants.

Trea gasps and sways a little on his feet, but Tony’s holding him steady with his free hand clutching Trea’s waist. Trea brings his hands up to rest on Tony’s shoulders, leaning in, and when Tony bridges the gap between them and kisses him, Trea’s brain just totally shuts down.

It’s so good. It’s a hard, fast jack, but Tony’s got him held perfectly and Tony’s mouth feels amazing, running his tongue along Trea’s lips and biting gently. His beard tickles, a little - it’s weird to kiss someone with a beard. 

This is everything, _everything_ , and he had no idea he wanted it until a few minutes ago. 

It doesn’t take him long - barely any time at all, really, before he’s spilling in Tony’s hand and Tony just holds him tighter and lets Trea groan into his mouth. 

Trea breaks them apart, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Tony’s and breathing heavily against Tony’s face. He can practically _feel_ Tony’s smile. 

“Fuck,” he says, a little breathless. “I’ve - I’ve never…”

“Yeah, like I said. Kinda guess that early on.” 

Trea does finally pull back far enough to look Tony in the eye at that. “Have you? With a guy?” 

Tony shrugs. Trea has to sit down, feels like his legs are about ready to give way under him as all of the adrenaline drains from his body and his limbs slowly turn to jello, so he pulls away from Tony and goes to sit on the floor, tucking himself back in his boxers and doing up his jeans as he leans his back against the wall. Tony slides down to the floor as well, mirroring Trea’s position with his back leaned against the side of the bedframe. 

“A few times,” Tony tells him, sounding casual. Trea’s not sure if he really is that chill about it, but he’s not going to press it. Tony continues after a moment, “I, um. Wasn’t really sure how far you’d actually go with this.” 

Trea snorts out a laugh, can’t help it. “So what, you been testing me all this time?” 

“Naw, man,” Tony replies with a grin, rubbing his chin. “Just, y’know. Gotta have that plausible deniability.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.” Tony shakes his head, still smiling. 

The room smells like beer and a little like sex and Trea’s not sure if he wants to go again or climb into bed and fall asleep. He does know that he wants to see Tony’s chest, get a good look at him when he’s naked and there aren’t twenty other guys in the room. He wants to touch, more than he’s been able to so far.

“When’ve you done this before?” he asks, stretching one leg out to poke at Tony’s knee with his foot. He’s still got his shoes on, which is kind of hilarious.

Tony shrugs. “Here and there. Just something that happens sometimes, I guess, when you’re in close quarters for months on end like this.”

“Like, in the majors?” Trea asks. He’s not jealous, just kind of desperately curious now about _who_. “Or back in the minors. College?” 

Tony just shrugs again and gets that shit-eating grin on his face that makes Trea roll his eyes.  
“Fine. Whatever. Guess I still have a lot to learn about life in the majors.”

“Hmm,” Tony hums in response, like he’s waiting to see where Trea’s going with this - waiting, again, for Trea to lead them where they both know they want to go.

Trea doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t worry about being impulsive. “You wanna teach it to me?” 

Tony’s grin grows impossibly wider. “Well, what’re friends for?”

_-end-_


End file.
